Chapter Text
The suburban street was lined with maple trees starting to turn fall colors. Bucky killed the engine two houses down, his truck settling into silence as he stared at the house that had become the answer to all his questions.
White siding.
Black shutters.
A perfectly manicured lawn that probably cost a fortune to maintain. A silver BMW in the driveway.
His hands were still gripping the steering wheel even though the truck wasn’t running anymore.
Knuckles white.
He forced himself to let go, flexing his fingers to get the blood flowing again.
He’d felt like an idiot putting the AirTag in Shuri’s glovebox that morning. Felt even worse watching the little blue dot on his phone move across the city while he sat in his apartment trying to convince himself he was wrong.
That there was some reasonable explanation for why his girlfriend had become a stranger over the past month.
But here he was.
And there was her car.
That sleek black Lexus she was so proud of, parked right behind the BMW like it belonged there.
“Work emergency,” Bucky muttered to himself. That’s what she’d texted him two hours ago. So sorry babe, something came up at the lab. Rain check on dinner?
The lab.
Right.
He pulled out his phone, looking at her text again like maybe he’d misread it. Like maybe it would suddenly say something different. But no—there it was.
The same lie she’d been telling him for weeks now.
The first time had been three weeks ago. They were supposed to go to Steve’s birthday party, and she’d canceled last minute.
Lab emergency.
Then it was drinks with Sam and Natasha.
Another emergency.
Then the concert he’d bought tickets to two months in advance. She’d looked genuinely upset about that one, kissing him and promising to make it up to him.
She hadn’t.
Their anniversary dinner last week, eight months, not a huge deal but he’d made reservations at that place in Brooklyn she loved—canceled.
You guessed it.
Lab emergency.
Bucky had worked as a motorcycle mechanic long enough to know when something was broken.
And whatever he and Shuri had?
It was broken.
The sex thing had been the real tell though.
They used to go at it constantly.
Morning sex before work.
Lunch breaks when she’d swing by the garage.
Late nights on his couch, her couch, hell, they’d done it in his truck once parked by the pier.
Shuri had a appetite that matched his own, and he’d loved that about her.
But it’d been five days since the last time. Five days might not sound like much, but for them?
It was a lifetime.
And even that last time had been different.
She’d been distracted.
Less vocal and enthusiastic.
Finished quickly and then said she needed to head out early.
He’d asked her what was wrong.
Multiple times.
Tried to have the conversation like an adult.
“Is everything okay with us?”
“Of course! Why would you ask that?”
“You seem distant lately. If something’s bothering you—”
“Bucky, I’m just stressed with work. That’s all.”
But it wasn’t just work.
He knew it wasn’t.
The password thing had confirmed it.
He’d never been weird about phones—didn’t think he needed to be. They’d known each other’s codes. Sometimes he’d order food on her phone, or she’d change the music on his. Normal relationship stuff.
Then last Tuesday, he’d tried to skip a song while they were driving and her phone wouldn’t open. She’d changed her password and hadn’t told him.
When he’d asked about it, she’d shrugged. “Oh, I had to update some security settings for work. You know how paranoid they are about data breaches.”
Maybe that was true.
Maybe.
But combined with everything else?
The cancelations, the distance, the sudden need for privacy, the way she’d tense up when her phone buzzed?
Bucky knew what adding up looked like.
So this morning, while she was in the shower, he’d done something he wasn’t proud of. Slipped the AirTag into her glovebox, buried under some napkins and her car registration papers. Told himself he just needed to know.
Needed to prove to himself that he was being paranoid and jealous and stupid.
Except he wasn’t.
The text had come at 5:47 PM.
And at 6:35 PM, the little blue dot on his phone started moving.
Not toward the lab in Manhattan.
Not toward her apartment in Brooklyn.
North.
Into Queens.
Into this neighborhood with its big houses and its expensive cars and its perfect lawns.
He’d given her a ten-minute head start before getting in his truck. Followed the blue dot on his phone the whole drive. By the time he turned onto the street, she was already parked. Watched her get out of the car, checking her phone one more time before walking up to the front door.
She didn’t knock.
She had a key.
She let herself in like she’d done it a hundred times before.
That had been fifteen minutes ago. Bucky had been sitting in his truck, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now.
Part of him wanted to march up to that door and bang on it until someone answered. Demand an explanation. Make her look him in the eye and tell him what was really going on.
But another part of him—the part that was still hoping he was wrong, that there was some explanation that would make all of this make sense—that part kept him frozen in his seat.
“Come on,” he said out loud, his voice too loud in the quiet truck. “You came all the way here. Finish it.”
His hand was on the door handle before he could talk himself out of it. The metal was cold under his palm as he pushed it open and stepped out into the evening air. It was cooler than he expected, enough that he wished he’d grabbed his jacket. But he wasn’t going back now.
The street was quiet.
A few houses down, someone was grilling—he could smell charcoal and meat. A dog barked somewhere.
Normal suburban sounds.
Normal evening.
Nothing about this was normal.
Bucky’s boots were quiet on the sidewalk as he approached the house. His heart was hammering in his chest, adrenaline making his hands shake slightly. He’d been in firefights overseas, had been in more bar brawls than he could count, but somehow this felt worse.
This felt personal in a way that made his stomach twist.
The house had big windows facing the street, but the curtains were drawn on most of them.
He moved around the side, staying low and close to the bushes. There was a gate leading to the backyard but it was unlocked.
The backyard was just as pristine as the front. Pool covered for the season. Patio furniture that probably cost more than his truck.
More big windows, and these ones weren’t covered.
Bucky crept closer, his breath coming faster now. He could see light spilling out from what looked like a bedroom.
He pressed himself against the side of the house, inching toward the window. His heart was so loud in his ears he was sure someone would hear it.
This was insane.
He should leave.
Should get back in his truck and drive away and deal with this like a normal person tomorrow in daylight and—
Movement in the window caught his eye.
Bucky looked.
And his entire world came crashing down.
Shuri.
His Shuri.
The woman who laughed at his terrible jokes and wore his hoodies to bed and made him feel like maybe he could have something good in his life.
She was naked.
Straddling a man who was equally naked beneath her.
The man had his hands on her waist, fingers digging into her dark skin as he moved her up and down on his cock.
Bucky could see everything.
The way the man’s length disappeared inside her with each downward motion, the way her body stretched to take him, how wet she was.
The evidence of her arousal was visible even from outside, glistening on his shaft every time she lifted up before sinking back down.
Shuri was riding him slowly at first, rolling her hips in a dirty grind that Bucky recognized.
She used to do that to him.
The window wasn’t quite closed all the way, it was left cracked and sound carried through clearly enough.
“God, I missed this,” Shuri breathed out, her voice whiny and high. “Missed you.”
Bucky’s stomach clenched.
Missed him?
“Missed you too, love,” the man’s voice was deep with arousal. His face was partially blocked by Shuri’s body from this angle, but Bucky could see dark hair, bronze skin, his body was muscular; it was obvious he’d spent years training hard in the gym... “Missed this perfect pussy.”
Shuri’s head fell back, her braids swaying with the movement, cascading down her bare back.
She picked up her pace, bouncing harder now, and the sound of skin meeting skin started to fill the air.
Her breasts bounced with each movement, and the man’s eyes were locked on them, his fingers tightening on her waist hard enough that Bucky could see the indents even from outside.
“That’s it,” the man encouraged, guiding her movements. “Ride it just like that.”
“Feels so good,” Shuri gasped. “You’re so deep like this.”
She braced her hands on his chest, changing the angle, and the moan that came out of her was long and broken.
Bucky had heard her make sounds like that before—in his bed, in his truck, against his kitchen counter—but never quite that intense.
Never quite that desperate.
“Fuck, yes,” she panted, grinding down hard and circling her hips. “Right there. Right fucking there.”
The man’s hands slid from her waist up to her breasts, palming them, squeezing, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. Shuri’s rhythm stuttered, her movements becoming less coordinated and more frantic.
“You like that?” the man asked, and there was smugness in his voice that made Bucky’s jaw clench. “Like when I touch you here?”
“Yes,” Shuri practically sobbed. “Yes, don’t stop.“
His stomach dropped straight through the ground.
But it got worse.
Shuri shifted, leaning forward to brace herself better, and her body moved just enough to the side that Bucky finally got a clear view of the man’s face.
And his heart stopped completely.
Namor Almehen.
Her ex.
The realization hit him square in the face. He actually stepped back from the window, his breath catching in his chest.
Namor.
The ex she’d dated for two years before they broke up.
The ex she’d told Bucky was “completely in the past” and “nothing to worry about” and “we barely even talk anymore.”
The ex whose name still came up occasionally because they had mutual friends, because they’d been such a huge part of each other’s lives.
The ex Bucky had asked about early in their relationship, trying to gauge if it was something he needed to be concerned about.
“Namor? God, no. That’s ancient history,” she’d laughed, touching his face. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”
That ex.
Who currently had his hands all over Bucky’s girlfriend while she rode his cock like her life depended on it.
Bucky’s brain couldn’t process it.
Couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—horrifying and mesmerizing and impossible to look away from.
Namor’s hands slid back down to Shuri’s waist from her breasts and she arched into him. Her mouth was open, saying something Bucky couldn’t hear. Namor responded, his lips moving, and whatever he said made Shuri throw her head back and laugh before grinding down harder.
They looked comfortable together.
Familiar.
Like this wasn’t the first time.
Or the tenth.
How long? Bucky’s mind raced. How long had this been going on?
On the other side of the glass, Namor suddenly sat up, wrapping his arms around Shuri and pulling her close. She wrapped her legs around him and they kissed.
Deep and hungry and it made Bucky’s chest physically hurt.
He should leave.
He should absolutely leave right now.
But he couldn’t move.
Namor shifted, his muscles flexing as he lifted Shuri like she weighed nothing at all. She let out what sounded like a squeal of surprise, grinning as he maneuvered them both. He laid back down but this time, he pulled her all the way up his body until she was straddling his face.
Bucky watched as Shuri grabbed the headboard, her whole body shaking as Namor went to work with his mouth. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place, and Bucky could see her grinding against his face.
Could see her mouth open in what was a loud moan.
One of Namor’s hands left her thigh and moved down to his own cock, stroking himself in long, slow pulls while he ate her out.
He was hard as stone, and even from his vantage point, Bucky could tell the man was impressive.
Not that it mattered.
Not that any of this should matter because he should be leaving, should be getting the hell out of here and never looking back.
But he stayed.
Stayed and watched as Shuri rode Namor’s face.
He knew what she looked like when she was close.
Knew the way her back would arch and bend, the way her thighs would start to shake.
And he watched it happen for someone else.
Namor pulled back suddenly, saying something Bucky couldn’t quite catch, and Shuri moved immediately.
No hesitation.
No awkward shuffling or figuring out what he wanted.
She just knew.
They repositioned in seconds…too fast, too smooth.
How many times had they done this?
Now Shuri was on her hands and knees on the bed, ass in the air, and Namor was behind her. He lined himself up and pushed in one smooth thrust that made Shuri’s arms buckle slightly.
And then he started moving.
Bucky could hear it all—could hear the sound of skin on skin.
Could hear Shuri’s moans, high and breathy and loud.
Could hear Namor’s voice saying things that made Shuri moan even louder.
“That’s it, baby.”
“You feel so fucking good.”
“Take it. All of it.”
Bucky’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His nails were digging into his palms hard enough to hurt.
This was torture.
He should look away.
Should leave.
Should do literally anything except stand and watch his girlfriend get pounded by another man.
But he couldn’t stop.
Namor’s hips snapped forward, hard and fast, and Shuri’s whole body jolted with each thrust. Her breasts swayed, her braids scattered across her back. She pushed back to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust, and the sounds she was making were obscene.
“Harder,” Bucky heard her say. “Please, harder.”
Namor obliged.
His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging in, and he gave her exactly what she asked for. The headboard was banging against the wall now, a steady percussion that matched their movements.
Then Namor reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Shuri’s braids, pulling her head back. Her spine arched beautifully…and Bucky hated that he noticed, hated that some sick part of his brain filed that image away—and she cried out.
“Yes! Fuck, yes!”
Namor was talking too, his voice a constant stream of filth that Bucky could just barely make out through the window.
“So wet for me.”
“Missed this pussy so much.”
“Look how you squeeze me.”
“Nobody fucks you like I do.”
And Shuri was agreeing. Gasping out “yes” and “more” and “don’t stop.”
Bucky felt heat creeping up his neck.
His face was probably red.
His whole body felt hot and cold at the same time, and there was a sick, twisted feeling in his gut that he couldn’t name.
He should be furious.
Should be heartbroken.
Should be feeling literally anything except…
Except what?
He didn’t want to examine it. Didn’t want to think about it.
On the bed, Shuri’s movements were getting erratic. Her moans were higher, more desperate. Bucky had heard those sounds before.
She was close again.
“Come for me,” Namor commanded, his voice rough. “Come on my cock.”
And she did.
Bucky watched as Shuri came apart, her whole body shaking, her moans turning into actual screams. She was loud, so much louder than she ever was with him, and that thought made something dark curl in his chest.
Namor didn’t stop.
He kept moving through her orgasm, drawing it out, until Shuri was practically sobbing.
Then he pulled out.
Namor moved fast.
He grabbed Shuri by the hips and pulled her off him, manhandling her around until she slid off the bed. She landed on her knees on the carpet, and there was no confusion about what was happening.
She looked up at him, and even through the window Bucky could see the heat in her eyes.
The want.
Namor stood over her, one hand gathering her braids and wrapping them around his fist. His other hand gripped his cock—still hard, still glistening from being inside her. He stroked himself, squeezing and pulling, his eyes locked on Shuri’s face.
“You know what I want,” he said, his voice deep and commanding.
“Yes,” Shuri breathed.
“Then open up for me, baby. Let me see that pretty mouth work.”
Shuri’s lips parted, her tongue sliding out, and she tilted her head back slightly.
Waiting.
Ready.
Namor groaned, his hand moving faster now, his grip tightening in her hair. “Fuck, you look so good like this. On your knees for me.”
“Please,” Shuri said, and Bucky couldn’t tell if she was begging or demanding.
Maybe both.
“Open wider,” Namor grunted, tugging her hair to adjust her angle. “That’s it. Just like that.”
His hand was moving in quick, rough strokes now, his breathing getting harsher. His hips jerked forward slightly, and Shuri didn’t flinch.
Just kept her mouth open, kept her eyes on him, completely focused.
“Gonna come in that perfect mouth,” Namor gritted out. “You want it?”
“Yes,” Shuri said immediately. “Want all of it.”
“Good girl.”
Namor’s whole body tensed, his head falling back for a second before he looked down at her again.
And then he came, his cock aimed directly at Shuri’s open mouth.
Bucky could see everything.
The first thick rope landed across Shuri’s waiting tongue; she didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Eyes locked on him like she was starving for it.
Another pulse, heavier this time, painted the flat of her tongue white; she let it sit there a second, just long enough for Bucky to see, before she curled her tongue back and swallowed with a slow bob of her throat.
Namor groaned, the last of it spilling over her bottom lip and dripping onto her chin. Shuri chased it without being told, tongue sliding out again, catching the stray drops like she couldn’t stand to waste a single one.
When the last shudder passed through him, Namor used his grip on her braids to pull her to her feet. The movement was rough but she went willingly, rising up on shaky legs. He pulled her into a kiss immediately—deep and filthy. His tongue in her mouth, tasting himself on her, not giving a single fuck about it.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
Grinning at each other like they’d just shared the best secret in the world.
“Missed that,” Shuri said, her voice hoarse.
“Missed you,” Namor replied, tucking a stray braid behind her ear. The gesture was almost tender, which somehow made it worse. “Should’ve never let you go.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“Yeah, you are.”
They kissed again, softer this time, and Bucky felt something crack in his chest.
He couldn’t watch anymore.
He stumbled backward from the window, his boots scraping against the concrete. His hands hit the side of the house as he tried to steady himself, his breath coming too fast, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.
Move.
He needed to move.
He forced his legs to work, turning away from the window and heading back the way he came.
Through the yard.
Past the pool.
The gate.
His vision was blurry at the edges and he didn’t know if it was from tears or shock or rage or all three at once.
The sidewalk was solid under his feet.
Real.
Everything else felt like a nightmare.
His truck was still there. Still parked where he’d left it, like the world hadn’t just ended.
Like everything was normal.
Bucky’s hands were shaking so badly he dropped his keys on the pavement. The metallic clang seemed too loud in the quiet street. He bent down, grabbed them, tried to fit the key in the lock.
Took three tries before he managed it.
The driver’s seat was exactly as he’d left it. He collapsed into it, pulling the door shut, and just sat there.
Staring through the windshield at nothing.
His hands found the steering wheel on their own.
Gripped it.
He needed to leave.
Needed to get out of here before—before what?
Before Shuri came out and saw his truck?
Before he did something stupid like going back to that door and breaking it down?
Start the truck.
He turned the key.
The engine rumbled to life.
Put it in drive.
His foot pressed the gas. The truck rolled forward.
Pull away from the curb.
He did.
Turned left at the corner because that’s what his hands did.
Then right.
Following streets he didn’t know, not processing the names on the signs or the houses passing by.
Just driving.
Putting distance between himself and that window.
That bedroom.
That image that was burned into his brain and would probably stay there forever.
Turn.
Another turn.
A stoplight that he barely registered, sitting there while it cycled from red to green. Someone honked behind him and he pressed the gas.
Three blocks.
Maybe four.
He wasn’t counting.
And then, stopped at another red light with his hands still gripping the steering wheel and his heart still racing and his mind still trying to process what he’d just witnessed—
That’s when he noticed.
The uncomfortable pressure against his zipper.
The heat.
The undeniable evidence that his body had responded to what he’d seen in a way that made absolutely no sense.
He was hard.
Fully, achingly, painfully hard.
“What the fuck,” Bucky whispered, his voice cracking on the words.
The light turned green.
He didn’t move.
The car behind him honked again, longer this time, and he forced himself to drive.
But he couldn’t escape it.
Couldn’t ignore the way his jeans felt too tight, the way his body was betraying everything his mind was screaming.
He’d just watched his girlfriend—the woman he loved, the woman he’d been planning a future with—fuck her ex.
Watched her take another man’s cock.
Watched her swallow his cum.
Watched her smile at him after.
And he was hard.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said out loud, his voice harsh and angry in the quiet truck.
But his body didn’t care about the anger or the heartbreak or the confusion. His body just remembered what it had seen.
Bucky drove into the night with no destination in mind, his world shattered, his heart broken, and his body telling him things he didn’t want to hear.